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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24942103">Searching For Something</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LesbianZeus/pseuds/LesbianZeus'>LesbianZeus</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Killing Eve (TV 2018), Portrait de la jeune fille en feu | Portrait of a Lady on Fire (2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU, Artist Eve, College Professor Eve, Educating Rita Crossover, F/F, Lesbian, Soft Villanelle - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 07:49:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,890</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24942103</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LesbianZeus/pseuds/LesbianZeus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Eve is a university professor, in need of something to put the excitement back into her life.<br/>'Villanelle' is the confident alter ego of 27 year old Lesley, who is looking to educate herself and seek out new thrills, dying for some lesbian action. </p><p>This is sort of a Educating Rita/Portrait de la jeune fille en feu inspired fic.<br/>The character of 'Lesley' is inspired by Jodie Comer's 'Talking Heads' character.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-Eve-</p><p> </p><p>For a long time now, Eve had been living predominately through the eyes of her students. They were further from age than anyone else she knew, but they were friends all the same. At universities like this one, it was quite natural for teachers to form friendships with their pupils. At least, she told herself that. All of them were extremely talented, intelligent, easy going, friendly. Everything Eve had been; emphasis on the past tense. Now, she didnt know quite what or who she was. She was, like many people, still trying to find her purpose and her place in life. Yet, pushing 50, it felt to her like her time for that had been running out. </p><p>In simple terms, she was an art professor. A good one, with knowledge in all areas, an advanced mind, and a strong yet fastly fading talent for painting. She hadn't painted for a long while now; not since a year after her separation from her ex husband, in which she had expressed every emotion she could on the canvas with a severity, unlike any abstract, white male bullshit they called art these days. She found it practically laughable that throughout history all men had to do was have a wet dream and a steady hand to create masterpieces. Maybe that was the reason she had grown so discontent with her life, and her artwork. Even today, it was hard to be an American English woman of South Korean descent in the art world. Selling a few canvases here and there was hardly a career. It was why, eventually, the brushes stopped stroking. </p><p>A divorced middle aged woman, pansexual, though it wasn't like anyone knew or cared. In fact, she didn't try to hide it, nor exactly express it; even most of her students didn't know, and she knew that at least a good three quarters of them identified as fluent in their sexuality or gender. Oh, how times had changed for the better from her day. </p><p>Cigarettes. She was a serial smoker. In fact, she held one in between her fingers and thumb now, rolling it in contemplation before putting it to her lips. She remembered the first time she ever had one, the addiction of it, the bitterness. It represented the feelings of a heartbreak a long time ago now, and unfortunately the habit had left her going through 20 a day at least. Wasting away. That was how her students put it. She supposed she learned from them just as much as they did from her, though like them, she didn't exactly heed the advice given.</p><p>Alcoholic. Those words were a disgust to say on her tongue. She knew she enjoyed a drink, she didn't think she was worthy of that particular title with which her students and her ex-husband had granted her. Oh, how he liked to call her that; Eve had been as normal as anyone in her drinking habits, yet Niko took it as a complete deterioration of mental stability. Well, he was a maths teacher, so he probably knew the odds of her dying from it. Yet, she could still hear his words, often calling her psychopathic, obssessed, macabre. Eve liked to remind herself that she ever rarely got so drunk that she couldn't teach a class. Yet, she'd be lying to herself if she hadn't noticed her students picking up on the fact her coffee mug often had a rich bourbon in it instead of an americano. </p><p>Vegan. Ah, that was the last word she used to describe herself, or how others would perceive her at least. This word she was proud of, the only redeemable quality she had amongst all of the greyness. Again, she switched lifestyle early on in her life, even before her divorce. It was one of the few things that hadn't changed from the whole messed up ordeal.</p><p>She gazed lazily at the papers in front of her, her eyes moving quickly from one sentence to the other, her cigarette quivering between her lips. They were interesting. Everything her students wrote was so modern and profound nowadays. What she'd have given to have written like that back in her college days. Yet, with most things, she had a lack of patience that sometimes greatly affected her ability to work, think, even sleep. Something caught her, however, at the corner of her eye. A sheet of paper at the bottom of the pile, poking out beneath the essays. Eve slipped it out, her eyebrows creasing in confusion. She didn't think she'd seen it before, so it was likely the dean had left it on her desk whilst she had been away from her office. </p><p>She held it up to her eyes, studying the information. It was a schedule, naming her three periods of free time on Mondays, Tuesdays and Fridays after her students had left (the time in which she spent marking work before she got home) now suddenly filled up with a name she did not recognise. Lesley A. Open University. </p><p>Upon reading the words, she let out a sigh, an exhilaratingly stressed 'for fuck's sake', and leaned back in her chair in frustration. The timing for this sort of thing, to privately tutor someone in the arts, was way off. 'Lesley A.' had come 10 years too late. <br/>No one had told her about this. She perused the paper, finding a start date. Tomorrow. She took a last long drag on her cigarette, stubbing it on her desk and then flicking it away, unobserving where it landed. Tomorrow she had to spend the only free time she had teaching some 20 something how to fucking paint. It was unbelievable, not least because she had had no notice of it and hadn't even been able to oppose the post. </p><p>Bounding up from her chair, she held the letter almost balled up in her fist and strode out the door. Speed walking angrily to the dean's office, she suddenly spotted her walking down the main entrance stairs, about to leave. Eve quickly jogged after her, appearing alongside her as she walked down the steps. </p><p>'Eve. I'm just going home. Can this wait until tomorrow?'</p><p>'No, it bloody can't actually, because this Lesley person who I'm supposed to be tutoring arrives tomorrow. I wasn't aware of this, I had no notice of it.' </p><p>The dean sighed unapologetically, 'it was a late admission. All the tutors had already been taken with Open University students and her schedule fit perfectly, entirely around your own.' </p><p>'I don't want to do it. I'm not doing it. I can't.'</p><p>'You're her assigned tutor. You can't get out of it now, it's too late.'</p><p>'Yes, of course it's too late! I didn't even know I'd be doing it until five minutes ago!'</p><p>The dean stopped on the bottom steps, turning to face her seriously.</p><p>'Stop being unprofessional, act like an adult for once, Eve. The whole universe doesn't revolve solely around you.' </p><p>With that, she left, striding towards the door. </p><p>'I haven't even got the time anymore!' </p><p>'You've been saying that for the last five years.' She called, refusing to look back at Eve as she walked outside and disappeared. </p><p>Eve threw her hands up to her hair, turning round in a circle in frustration. She struck two fingers up offensively in the dean's wake, then eyed the receptionist staring at her. Walking back up the stairs in a huff, she rushed back to her office, immediately going to the wall with a small Gluck painting over it. Pulling it aside from it's hook, she reached inside the cubby hole for the hidden bottle of Jim Beam, only a quarter full. She sighed in despair at the little she had left, nevertheless pouring out a generous double into her 'coffee' mug. She slumped back down in her chair, this time completely neglecting the unmarked pile, instead staring gloomily into the corner of the room, sipping her drink with all the antipathy of a defeated poet, depressed by a lack of invention for a final line. </p><p>Suddenly, a knock was heard on the door, and after hastily burning her throat with drinking the rest, croaked a feeble 'come in!' </p><p>One of her friendliest students, a long-haired boy of 21, strolled in with all the comfort of walking into his own living room.</p><p>'Hey, Professor.' He sat down opposite her desk with a flourish, a preppy smile on his face. </p><p>'Hi, Kamil.' She answered, injecting her tone with as much liveliness as she could, 'are you alright?'</p><p>'I'm good, thanks. I just wanted to run past you some additions to my essay. And my current artwork.'</p><p>She smiled, taking her glasses off. This is what she would be missing each week if she had to teach this woman. </p><p>This was what she liked most; helping, interacting with her students when they needed it. </p><p>Her students, excepting her cat, were all she had. </p><p> </p><p>-Villanelle-</p><p>Today was the day.<br/>When she had initially applied for the course, she had done so with all the last minute panic as purchasing a costly impulse buy. It was done quickly, secretly, emails and letters come through the post all hidden, all for herself. Villanelle sometimes wondered if her husband would react well to her wanting to go back to school, but she wanted this to be all for herself; since they had gotten married, five long years ago, everything had been shared. It was like baring your soul to another person every day of your life, even when you wished not to. And anyway, what did she have to lose? </p><p>She was 27, and what did she have? A husband who had quickly bored her within the first few years of their marriage, a few GCSE's that she had now long forgotten the content of, and spare time. Oh, how she had spare time. </p><p>Villanelle was surprised enough that they had given her as many as three private lessons a week for a total of thirty minutes each day, though she was naturally envious that normally enrolled students spent their whole week there. And although she had heaps of spare time, there was her job for the first few hours of the morning to attend to. </p><p>She looked at herself in the mirror, adjusting the fit of her white blouse, pulling it down, then up, then hiding her cleavage, then letting it open again. She tugged at her ponytail, cleaning up her appearance as much as she could. Villanelle put her hands on her hips, just staring at the vision she saw before her. Thinner than she wanted, thinner than her husband wanted. He wanted her stomach swollen, filled with life. She couldn't do it, she had told him that much. Besides, she wanted to indulge in her creative side, learn a little before she had children. If she ever did, anyway. Sometimes the very thought repulsed her. Very often, her husband told her how ridiculous that sounded. </p><p>So, along with applying for art lessons, she had also thought about how she would exact a little distance upon her husband. Maybe even a lot of it. Maybe, just maybe, Villanelle would take up the courage to leave him. Desperate to seek a thrill, some excitement for once. Yearning for the touch of another, one that was foreign to his own wandering hands. </p><p>Somehow, she never had any suspicions of people, she took them all so infuriatingly at their word. It was how she had ended up so many times in the wrong beds, the wrong houses, the wrong streets. Even the wrong countries. Her husband was Russian, and many times had she been there to see his family; she had even learned the language. That gave her hope, that did; the knowledge that she could learn something new again. But her gullibleness was sometimes her greatest weakness of character; it was how she had married him in the first place, promised a life with him that she no longer wanted, nor could fulfil. She hoped that this could be the start of a new one, for her. Her idea had been completely that, you learn, you educate, you better yourself; then you start living. She was confident she would do this better the second time round. </p><p>Collecting her bag, Villanelle was soon walking away from her house and down the streets. Fortunately, it was only a 15 minute walk. If she'd have had to have used transport she could never have gotten away with this; her husband would have seen the transactions. </p><p>As she walked, she daydreamed again, as was common for her to do. Many times her friends had said she could zone out and daydream for all of England. In these thoughts alone, however, she was happiest; and in them all her private desires could jump alive. There, she spent the walk thinking about her new education, the benefits it could grant her. Because secretly, Villanelle had an ulterior motive when it came to her new venture; she hoped to learn, to mix with a higher echelon of society, and perhaps fall in love. And not with a man. </p><p>She could swear that women treated women differently than men; better. In her dreams as in her waking life, she felt the irresistible need to be understood, sympathised, cared for by a woman. Even if they were to simply listen to her words, her story. A repressed, more secretly hidden part of her longed to experience a woman fully. What they would say to her whilst she was laying languidly over them, what they would taste like. How would they feel against her own feminine form? She thought about a woman's touch at least twice a day. No, maybe it was four. </p><p>And suddenly, just like that, she had stumbled upon the gates of the university, the tall interconnected buildings, round rotunda's no doubt filled with students and books and irreplaceable knowledge. She gulped anxiously, her hands now grappling nervously with the gates as she made her way up the neat paths, flanked by long patches of green. </p><p>Villanelle had gotten to the reception, stammering out her name, and was immediately directed up the stairs and down a long corridor, flicking her eyes back down to her schedule for the room number, and at the plaques on the doors. </p><p>Finally, at the end of the hall she found the correct number, affirming it with the words 'Prof. Polastri' on the door. </p><p>She pushed through the door a little harder than she expected. She flew through the gap, catching herself just before she could embarrass herself further. She smoothed herself down. From across the room, a head looked up from her book directly at her. </p><p>'Sorry-sorry about that.' She started, looking from the door, to adjusting her clothes, to the woman again. </p><p>'What's your name?' She asked, coming from around her desk to lean on the front of it, arms crossed. </p><p>'Villanelle.' She answered confidently. </p><p>The woman smirked as if she disbelieved her. </p><p>'Then you've come to the wrong place. I'm teaching a Lesley.' </p><p>'Oh, it's-it's my real name. I call myself Villanelle.' </p><p>'Ironic.' </p><p>'Hmm? How so?'</p><p>'You have come to a place to discover yourself and yet you use a completely different name.' </p><p>Villanelle already felt out of her depth. She huffed, 'Well, what's yours? I assume you're Professor Polastri.' </p><p>'Yes, Eve Polastri. Why do you look so surprised?' </p><p>'Oh, I just...' she looked around nervously, licking her lips as she answered, 'assumed you were a man.'</p><p>'And I assumed you were Lesley.' She said, completely outwitting her with a raise of an eyebrow. </p><p>Her first impression of her was 'intimidating.'</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-Eve-</p><p> </p><p>Here she was, just burst through her delicately frail door, handbag swinging on her arm, shock plastered all over her face. She knew immediately from the immaculate, expensive look of her clothes that she was more than likely very wealthy. Eve was acutely aware of the low cut blouse revealing just the slightest hint of cleavage, at which she simultaneously both glanced and looked away at. </p><p>And then she opened her mouth, issuing out a posh, high-voiced accent, which seemed to fit her dress sense well, anyway.</p><p>'Sorry-sorry about that.' </p><p>Eve didn't think she would be able to bear it; yes, they were in London, but hardly living at Buckingham Palace. Half of the people she knew born and raised in the city didn't speak so well as that. </p><p>Like her name, she presumed it was an act.<br/>
She studied her better as she lingered at the door, not knowing whether to venture further in or run off completely.<br/>
Her hair was dark blonde, maybe honey, tied back into a ponytail. She was slim, about 25-26 and had very delicate features, her eyes sort of cat-like; wide, but alert. </p><p>She gazed harder, like she would when scrutinising the brushstrokes of a painting. Her lips were full, her neck long, her cheekbones high. The skin was smooth and bright, and Eve thought about how perfect her complexion would look if it was painted. There was also a lost look in her eyes, that remained focused, yet inaccessible; all of this Eve could read from her face, her posture, her expressions, being an artist she could pick up on them easily. Yet she was completely inaccessible in the way she looked, like she was in a trance or a daydream. She was, Eve reluctantly admitted, attractive. </p><p>'You can come in.'</p><p>She made her way to the centre of the room, looking about her still. Her posture was incredibly straight, and she looked terribly awkward standing like that in amongst the chaotic mess of Eve's office. </p><p>'Look, frankly, I didn't want to do this and I'm sacrificing a lot of my free time, so if you tell me what you want to learn I can get through it quickly.'</p><p>'Why didn't you say no to it then?' </p><p>'Because it was too short notice. I only knew you were coming yesterday. What do you want to learn?' She repeated. </p><p>'Everything.'</p><p>Eve sighed automatically. People can never give you straight answers anymore; its either maybe, or perhaps, or probably.<br/>
'I was afraid you'd say that.' </p><p>'Why?'</p><p>'Because it's impossible to show you every last painting, every last artist there is on earth. I cannot simply give you the knowledge of millions of lives.'</p><p>'Well, yes that's true, but you've taken it completely out of context. Teach me everything it tells you to teach me for the course. Show me how to paint, tell me what to think about a piece of art or an artist.'</p><p>'Now, the first I can do. The second, I'm afraid, I can't. I cannot tell you what to think about a piece of art, that is entirely up to you.'</p><p>'How do you possibly go about it, though? How do you judge whether art is good or not? How do you form your opinions?' </p><p>Eve held a cigarette in her hand, now bringing it to her lips, 'you ask a lot of questions.' </p><p>'What do you expect? I'm completely new to this.'<br/>
She seemed to look a little aggravated, switching her leaning leg to the other. Eve could barely help herself sweeping her eyes over her form, the perfect contrapposto of her leg supporting her weight a sculptors dream. </p><p>'I didn't expect a student at all. I would be much happier being at home right now with an unpronouncable bottle of scotch and the TV volume on 100.' </p><p>'Well, you have me now. So wouldn't it be best if we could get to the part where you teach me to paint?'</p><p>Eve simply stood there, dragging on her cigarette looking at Villanelle for a considerable time. It made the other woman tense, actively freeze up.</p><p>'Why do you want to do this?' She asked finally. </p><p>'Because...I'm 27, I have no life other than a job and a husband that I don't love. Is there anything else you want me to tell you about my private life?'</p><p>'Yes,' Eve said, disregarding the sarcastic tone completely, 'why don't you love your husband?' </p><p>Eve was interested at this point, in the mention of her husband. It reminded her of Niko.<br/>
Villanelle looked completely off put by the question, but replied in any case. </p><p>'Because he doesn't...excite me anymore.' </p><p>'And you're after excitement, are you? A thrill?' </p><p>'I'm after a better life. I need purpose, truth, a skill, an actual talent.' </p><p>'Well, painting will do that.'</p><p>Again, another pause. It was almost as if the air around them had condensed itself into one thick blanket they had to wade through to find one another. </p><p>'Can I have one?'</p><p>'Have what?' </p><p>'A cigarette.' She said suddenly, her eyes lit up by the thought. </p><p>'Is this part of you starting to go wild and seek a thrill?'</p><p>'We've all got to start somewhere.' </p><p>Eve felt those words wash over her, as if they had punched her directly in the gut. She held out a straight for her to take, suddenly overwhelmed by her being so close. </p><p>She slipped it between her fingers, and for a second it seemed like Eve would offer her the lighter, yet Villanelle's words stopped her. Up close, her eyes were a mix of hazel and green, like a forest floor filled with fallen chestnuts. Her face was so close she could feel her breathing. </p><p>'I've never smoked before.' She looked at her with an innocence that reminded her of a child. Eve lit the flame, Villanelle leaning in to catch the spark. Eve's hands were cupped over her hands, merely centimetres away from her face, and she was pretty sure their bodies were millimetres from touching. Within a second, she was gone, drawn back to the open room. Eve observed her take a drag with all the coolness of an experienced smoker; miraculously watched as she blew out the smoke with perfect poise and without complaint. </p><p>Eve raised an eyebrow, impressed. </p><p>'What about you, then? Do you have family?' </p><p>'No.' </p><p>'No one at all?'</p><p>'I keep my private life separate.'</p><p>'That's just another way of saying you don't have anyone to keep private.' </p><p>Eve looked on coolly, but inside she felt the shock to her core. </p><p>'Trust me...' she took a drag, 'I know.'</p><p>She regarded her, with such an intense stare it threw her off her balance. She hadn't known anyone to challenge her like this in such a way for a long time.</p><p>And in fact, she could admit that her first impressions of a socialite, ditzy, and perhaps even dense young woman were entirely misplaced. Even from the minutes they had known each other Eve felt as if something was just beginning; she didn't know what. But then she thought about her past, the effort she'd have to put up with for months and months just to teach high school level basics. She was suddenly transported from these thoughts immediately by Villanelle's voice. </p><p>'So, are you going to show me what to do, or do I have to stand around here waiting, Professor?' </p><p> </p><p>-Villanelle- </p><p>It had angered her, initially. It had made her feel stupid, and unwanted; but of course, she had dealt with all of that before, and knew how to handle it. So when she glanced at the cigarette in Eve's hand, she had guessed it was the direct source of all her suavity and confidence. She had been told many times before she was gifted in understanding character or people's feelings. And so, to give herself that same confidence, she had asked for one. It was horrible, like ash hitting the back of her throat in bitter notes, but she didn't give this away. </p><p>It emboldened her to take charge of the conversation, of the connection they now shared; where a few minutes ago she had been anxious and timid, now she felt empowered and in control. Not many people knew quite the extent of how persistent she could be when she had a drive to do something, an idea, a question. Only her husband overpowered her; with everything else, she had an iron will and determination. </p><p>'So, are you going to show me what to do, or do I have to stand around here waiting, Professor?'</p><p>The other woman finally lifted herself off of her desk, walking slowly towards her. Despite the height difference, she looked as tall and overawing as a skyscraper. </p><p>'You can just call me Eve.'</p><p>'Eve.' She repeated, letting it out on one whispered breath. The professor turned away from her, walking up to the wall where countless artworks were displayed in all manner of ways; hung proudly, leaned against the wall on the floor, stacked on top of one another. Villanelle followed her, her eyes catching each striking colour, each composition, every pair of eyes in the portraits. </p><p>She could feel Eve's gaze upon her as she moved her head left and right, trying to take in everything she could. </p><p>'The first thing you need to know before beginning to paint, is what to paint. And in what style. You must first look at examples, analyse, criticise and evaluate other works before you create your own.' </p><p>Villanelle looked at her, then up at the paintings again. </p><p>'Which ones do you not like?' </p><p>'Not? What about the ones I do? I don't know, I mean, they're all so beautiful.'</p><p>'Wrong. There are beautiful paintings, and there are less beautiful ones.'</p><p>'I thought art was supposed to be subjective?' </p><p>She caught her eye smugly. 'It is. Your favourite painting may be my least, but it proves my point; there are beautiful ones, and less beautiful ones, and it's all about choices. Your own perception, what you think is good and what isn't.' </p><p>'Well, I suppose...' she tried to look at them again with fresh eyes, shutting them closed before reopening and testing where they landed first, 'I like that one the most,' she pointed to a picture high over their heads, 'and I don't like this one much.' She nodded her head at a canvas placed on the floor.</p><p>Eve seemed to visibly react, and then asked why.</p><p>'There's something in the eyes....and it's different to the others. Most of these are landscapes, so I think this portrait is very interesting. The colours are different to all the others, they are all bright. This one is sort of...dimmer.'</p><p>Eve shook her head, as if to assent to her words. </p><p>'And I'm not as taken with this painting because I guess I'm not a fan of modern art. I don't like the simplicity of it.' </p><p>'Elaborate on that feeling.'</p><p>She grew more confident as Eve encouraged her.</p><p>'I never understood all of the....squiggly lines and paint splatters. What does it all mean?' </p><p>'Expressionism as a movement usually comes to represent a certain emotion, or tell an abstract story. Sometimes it is used to bring out the subconscious of your mind, what you are feeling and how you are thinking.'</p><p>'Ah, that makes sense. I never thought of it that way before. Who painted it?'</p><p>'I did.' </p><p>Villanelle turned to look at her in horror, her face betraying the awkwardness she felt inside, 'I'm-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say it wasn't good, it is, I like all of them here and-'</p><p>'It's fine,' Eve shrugged, 'we all have our own opinions. Frankly, I agree with you. Sometimes modern art can be completely without purpose, except simply to satiate the desire to create something.' </p><p>'What emotion were you feeling when you painted it?' She looked at Eve, watching her look at her own artwork and back up at her with a frank smile. </p><p>'Anger.' </p><p>Villanelle scrutinised the canvas again, looking carefully in more detail. She saw red streaks resembling blood running down a pure white square, and paint splatters of all different colours framing the outside.<br/>
There did, in fact, seem to be a painful anger in the brush strokes. </p><p>'I see it now,' she commented, 'the colours. They're all bold and loud and disruptive. And completely different to the dark ones in the portrait.' </p><p>'See, there you go. Already you're making judgements on art. It's a good start. You asked me to tell you, but it looks like you don't need to be told what to think.' </p><p>Villanelle exhaled with a breathy laugh, 'yes, you're right. I get that enough at home anyway.'<br/>
The end of the sentence finished with a hint of pain slipping through, her head shifting to look up at the ceiling. </p><p>Eve didn't say anything, which was for the better. </p><p>'I wonder what you were thinking,' she carried on, crossing her arms over her chest, 'when you made that painting.' </p><p>'I'm not sure you would want to know.'</p><p>Villanelle leaned toward her, her smile widening, 'murder?' She raised her eyebrows, 'revenge?' </p><p>Eve side-eyed her, but she could tell she was amused. </p><p>'And what would you do? If your husband left you?' </p><p>'Give him a tenner for the taxi ride.' </p><p>Eve smiled then; actually smiled. Villanelle was quite taken aback, noticing how her whole face seemed to change. It was entirely endearing to her. </p><p>'Did you love him?' </p><p>'Look whose asking the personal questions now.'</p><p>Tilting her head, eyes on Eve's, 'maybe I'm interested in you.' She said. </p><p>'Hah, well. I don't know why you would be. But yes, I did.' </p><p>'What happened?'</p><p>She didn't answer for a while. Her teeth seemed to grind behind her lips and her eyes set straight ahead of her, as if that very same anger that inspired her to paint was coming back to her.<br/>
Her features turned suddenly darker. 'If you want to be taught art, I begrudgingly have no choice but to tutor you. I didn't choose it at all. You didn't come here to ask me about my past.'</p><p>Villanelle turned to stand face to face with Eve, directly opposite her. </p><p>'I think you're a fucking hypocrite.' </p><p>There was a tension. It was charged, it was something that fizzled on both of their lips, it was maddeningly intoxicating. </p><p>She was the first to move away, grab her bag which had been sitting on a chair, and walk through the door. </p><p> </p><p>-Eve- </p><p>There was something in those eyes, something that made sense. They accentuated her rosebud lips, shone when she had eventually smiled at her whilst making a joke; they had danced over the paintings with a careful consideration. </p><p>And when she had stormed off, there was electricity in her wake. She left it in every step she had walked away from her.<br/>
And somehow, even though it had barely been twenty minutes of knowing her, she felt her absence. </p><p>She thought over their conversation, her words. Maybe they had been harsh, cutting; hypocritical, like she said. God, maybe she'd been a dickhead. </p><p>Eve stood there, fully aware that she hadn't felt so awake in someone's presence like that before, tasting the aftermath of her on her tongue. </p><p>Five seconds, ten seconds, twenty seconds. By forty five seconds Villanelle would have reached the main entrance door. </p><p>As if she had been struck by lightning, she fled from the room, practically running down the corridor. She stopped at the top of the stairs, watching the blonde walk away. </p><p>'Villanelle!'</p><p>She whipped round with a shock, standing perfectly silhouetted in the door frame. </p><p>'I'm after a better life too. Come tomorrow.'</p><p>All she did was smile faintly, and step out of view. It was only then that Eve realised she was tensed, and let all of it go with one shaky sigh.</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-Villanelle- </p><p>When she woke up, narrowly falling off the bed she was so far to the edge, her heart immediately thumped with exhilaration. <br/>When she had got home last night, she fell into a state of awe, anger, excitement all rolled into one. The professor was arrogant, smug and self-centred it seemed, too; but totally captivating and, annoyingly interesting. <br/>And she had amazing hair.</p><p>She got up, went to work, got back home just in time to change clothes, all the while thinking about her lesson. </p><p>She had left yesterday in such a state of disappointment and frustration, that when Eve came running after her she was only the more angry. But when she told her to continue attending, she took it as a compliment; she was glad. There was something about her she undeniably liked, even if she was an asshole. They seemed to connect somehow, in a way that Villanelle hadn't experienced before. </p><p>Once more springing up the steps and into Eve's office, she found the professor in the middle of drinking something that clearly made her slam her mug down onto her desk with haste. </p><p>'Jesus christ, Villanelle!' She said, in amongst her shock. <br/>Villanelle crept further towards her, peering into the mug in question. <br/>She raised her eyebrows in question, Eve only rolling her eyes. </p><p>'Maybe you are the way that you are because you drink in the daytime.' She said. </p><p>'That's coming on a bit strong, don't you think? How would you know, you've barely known me half an hour in total.' </p><p>'They say it takes four seconds of knowing someone to decide their character. I think thirty minutes has been long enough to make a judgement.' </p><p>'So what's your almighty verdict, then?'</p><p>She crossed her arms, 'that you're just like me.'</p><p>'Oh?' She moved closer to her, drinking the alcohol she had in her cup anyway, 'how so?' </p><p>'You're a woman dissatisfied with life who just wants someone to give them something to keep living for. You get angry because you're just so bored, every day. You wonder when it will stop. But you don't do anything about it because you can't stand change.'</p><p>'Well, I can tell that your critical art analysis will be well informed and intelligent, by any means.' </p><p>'Does that mean I hit the nail on the head?' </p><p>Eve shifted uncomfortably, looking disgruntled. 'Let me help you paint, not become a psychic.' </p><p>She walked past her, setting up a canvas and an easel. Villanelle smiled smugly. </p><p>'Okay, we're going to start small, as is always the way. Especially with painting.' </p><p>She dragged the easel into the centre of the room, rushing about all over the place whilst Villanelle stood and watched. </p><p>'Every artist's favourite starting place, still life. We'll just do a simple apple for now.'</p><p>She lead Villanelle straight up to the canvas, picking a pencil for her. </p><p>'First, you want to consider what style your going for. Most still lifes, traditionally, use realism. But it's become more common to paint objects in abstract ways too. I assume you would rather learn classically?'</p><p>Villanelle looked at the apple, then the blank canvas; she was conscious of Eve standing inches away over her right shoulder, and turned her head to look at her.</p><p>'No, actually. I think I'd like to do it your way.'</p><p>Eve was instantly surprised, 'really? The same method you said you didn't like yesterday?' </p><p>'It's grown on me.' She shrugged. </p><p>You've grown on me, she thought. </p><p>'Alright then. You want to start with an outline. I have an eraser if you need it, but this is just to get a feel for the way you draw. If you're going for modern, you don't need to worry so much about the details and the shape.' </p><p>Villanelle drew softly, her eyes flicking back to the apple every few seconds. She wanted to impress, make a first good impression with her drawing. She was actually dying for Eve to praise her.</p><p>For a few minutes she stood there, sketching what she thought was a decent looking apple. Eve hovered over her, not saying a word except watching studiously at her movements. Villanelle could feel the heat of her eyes. </p><p>At last, she drew back, her eyes shifting to Eve to catch a first impression. </p><p>'Okay, not bad. Good. So now you want to think about colour.' <br/>When she leaned over to grab a palette and paint the wool fabric of her jumper brushed her arm. Villanelle was so focused that the contact felt way more intimate than it was. </p><p>'Have a good look,' she said, squeezing paint onto the surface, 'because you're painting with an impression, with abstraction, you want to focus more on the blending of colours and where they are placed. Here,' she said, handing Villanelle a palette with white, black, red, blue, yellow, 'almost squint your eyes, like you're looking at the sun.' </p><p>She did as she was told, her eyes glimpsing the colours of the apple hazily. </p><p>'And now,' Eve said, 'paint.' </p><p>Villanelle began by blending the colours, it looked like to Eve's approval. </p><p>She mixed them to a soft red, almost a pink, adding flecks of white. </p><p>'How do I create this colour, but in a darker shade? You know, for shadow and stuff.'<br/>She didn't know why she was so embarrassed. </p><p>'Here, let me help you with that,' Eve said, taking the side of the palette and relinquishing the brush from her. Eve mixed the colours to just what she had envisioned. </p><p>'Thank you,' she said quietly. </p><p>Villanelle put the brush to canvas, stroking it downwards in the centre of the apple. She kept painting, adding the darker shade to the shadows, dripping white dots for highlights. </p><p>'It's a good start,' Eve admitted, and the corners of Villanelle's mouth flickered upward slightly, 'watch how you use your brushstrokes, though,' she said, pointing at certain areas of the painting, 'you want them all to be either smooth or jagged, in one direction or the other,' as she said this, she put her hand over her own, directing her hand. Villanelle could feel her over her shoulder, so close they were touching in areas that she couldn't believe were being touched. </p><p>She could feel Eve's hand dominantly guide hers, sweeping down the canvas painfully slowly, so that she could feel every breath and movement they both made. <br/>Eve helped her like this for an agonisingly long time, until she suddenly drew away and Villanelle was left breathless at the sudden lack of contact. </p><p>Villanelle kept painting, Eve sometimes circling round her with eagle eyes. She felt conscious, her skin burning with the after effects of her touch. </p><p>When finally she felt her work was completed she stood back, allowing Eve to take a good look too. </p><p>She didn't say anything for a long while, and this made her extra impatient and nervous. Her arms were crossed, her lips holding a cigarette between them. </p><p>'It's okay,' she said, flashing her eyes onto hers, 'It can be improved,' she stepped closer to Villanelle, spinning her round to face her canvas, with her head directly hovering over her shoulder, 'by painting from the heart.' She brought Villanelle's own hand up to her chest, hers pressing over it with a force that took her breath away. She could feel Eve's hand on top of hers dramatically rise and fall with every embarassing deep breath she exhaled.</p><p>'When you paint, especially when it's done in the name of modern art, it's a connection you share with what you're painting. You may not have a connection to the apple itself, but you may have a connection to the way it makes you feel,' She let go of her, stepping away. Villanelle was glad she was behind her so she could not see the way her eyes fluttered closed in order to steady herself, 'if you bear that in mind next time, you will be able to paint like a pro before the term is over.' </p><p> </p><p>-Eve- </p><p>Villanelle spun around unexpectedly, causing Eve much alarm, 'can I see the way you paint? Can I watch your method, how you start, so I can learn the best way for my own painting?' </p><p>She half laughed, half grimaced; she knew it would have to happen at some point. But she hadn't fully painted, not for anyone or anything or even herself, for many many months and years. </p><p>'No, not yet. I don't have anything worth painting.'</p><p>She stepped closer, almost in defiance. <br/>Eve was astonished at her confidence. </p><p>'Paint me.'</p><p>Eve was immediately shocked at these words, having to blink a few times to adjust herself to the suggestion. She had never known a student so enthusiastic and forward. Not a student as captivating or determined as Villanelle. </p><p>'I dont have a significant connection to you yet. How am I supposed to create something without an emotion or a feeling tied to it? The art becomes impersonal and it should never be that way.'</p><p>Liar. She knew she was lying. She had felt some wave of connection wash over her as soon as she had touched her hand, or beheld the light in her eyes.</p><p>At these words Villanelle looked slightly disappointed, almost the look of rejection in her face. </p><p>'Maybe you'll persuade me some time.'<br/>She knew she had inspired some hope with this redeeming statement, watching the way Villanelle's face instantly brightened. </p><p>'Well, you may take it home if you wish. You can keep it as a comparison for your improved later works.' </p><p>'No.' She said, her face changing quickly, 'I want you to have it. Keep it here, in this room.' </p><p>Eve picked up the canvas, eyeing her as she did so, 'if you wish.' </p><p>She placed it by all the other canvases and student works she had collected in the corner, turning back to see Villanelle fidgeting with her hands. </p><p>'Are you okay?' </p><p>'Yeah,' her eyes lit up, but this time with a dullened spark, 'show me more.' </p><p>The next two days carried on much the same, Eve teaching Villanelle to paint, how to blend colours, how to analyse artworks. And every time their bodies were even remotely within a metres distance of one another, her body froze up inside. Holding her hands tenderly to help her paint felt like both a blessing and a curse; every time she could feel the breath hitch in her throat and the tingling on her skin from her touch. </p><p>The afternoon was spent poring over books, Eve showing Villanelle as many artists as she could, the latter, much to her surprise, taking it all in with a childlike awe, a real and deep fascination. It hadn't been the reaction she was expecting from the woman who had walked through her door the day before. Eve had lost track of time from teaching Villanelle, getting lost in those inquisitive eyes, that she didn't realise it had lasted way beyond their allocated thirty minute slot; well over an hour of talking and painting. Eve had looked at the time with horror on her face, nearly spitting out her cognac. </p><p>'Oh shit, Villanelle, it's been over an hour! I shouldn't have kept you so long, why didn't you tell me?' </p><p>'I could have listened to you talk for ages. I didn't want you to stop.' </p><p>Eve half smiled, half frowned at the comment.</p><p>'It'a a good thing I have nowhere to be, in that case. But you, shouldn't you go back home? Your husband must be wondering where you are.'</p><p>'I would rather be here. He would barely have noticed anyway.'</p><p>'Are you sure? I should never have let myself run on.'</p><p>'No!' Villanelle bounded up to her, unexpectedly taking her hand, 'you're much more interesting than him.' </p><p>'He'll still be agitated if I don't let you go soon,' she said, then gazing into Villanelle's eyes, 'unless...he doesn't know your here, does he?' </p><p>Her face fell, and Eve knew she was right. </p><p>'Why?' </p><p>'Because I wanted to do it for myself, without his influence. He probably would have forbidden it anyway. And,' she seemed to look directly at her, staring beyond her face deep into her soul, 'I want to leave him. I want the courage and the talent and independent means to leave him, I want to mix in completely different circles entirely. I want to meet someone else who won't treat me like shit.' </p><p>Eve couldn't quite fathom an answer. All she knew was that the look in Villanelle's eyes, to her, perhaps held more meaning in them than she had intended. </p><p>'You want to escape, to break out,' she said quietly, 'how could you be so sure that art will give you a way out?'</p><p>'I wasn't,' she admitted, then seeming to lick her lips softly, 'I am now.' </p><p>Eve stood there, completely mesmerised and shocked. She was so close to her, she could hardly move. She mentally shook away her thoughts, referring back to being strictly impartial and professional. </p><p>Villanelle seemed to take this cold approach as disagreement. </p><p>'What, you've never lied about being happy and hidden things from your husband?'</p><p>'Oh no, I have. And I'm not judging you for it, not in any way. Still,' she said, glancing again to the clock on the wall, 'it is getting late, and even if you could stay here all night listening to me ramble on about art I highly doubt the Dean's would allow it.'</p><p>This made Villanelle laugh, and perhaps especially because she hadn't intimated it was wrong to stay so late behind from their lesson. It betrayed a mutual sense of want that Eve half hoped yet half feared she would pick up on.</p><p>She shifted away from her, collecting her things from her desk, putting a coat on and a bag over her shoulder in preparation to leave.</p><p>'We should both go, regardless.' Eve smiled softly.</p><p>Villanelle assented, and together they walked out of Eve's office, turning the lights off as they went. </p><p>They eventually got outside the front doors, walking up the pathway together, all alone in the eerie silence of the courtyard. Eve pulled her hood up as a light rain pattered down over them.</p><p>'I might have an umbrella in my bag if you want it?' Eve offered, noticing Villanelle had nothing but a light coat on. </p><p>'No, really, I'm okay.'</p><p>'Are you driving? Taking the bus?' She said, sliding another cigarette between her lips. </p><p>'No, walking.'</p><p>'Walking? Let me drive you back home instead you don't wanna be caught in this. It looks like it will storm up in a minute.'</p><p>'No, no, I'm fine, I couldn't do that. It's only a fifteen minute walk.'</p><p>Eve stopped in her tracks just before she reached her parked car, turning to Villanelle, 'if it's a fifteen minute walk it will only take me five minutes to drive you there. Come on, don't be stupid.'</p><p>Villanelle's eyebrows arched, and for a second Eve thought she had taken it too far. But her lips seemed to quiver a subtle smile in response. </p><p>'If you drive me, he'll find out. He'll question me most likely. I don't want him to know yet.'</p><p>'I'll drop you off a road beforehand is that okay?' </p><p>'Are you sure?' </p><p>'Of course I'm sure, Villanelle, I'm not letting you walk back home in the rain.'</p><p>She gave her a warm smile, such as she had not seen before. Eve opened the passenger door for Villanelle and she climbed in. Even after only a week of knowing her, she felt already a fierce protectiveness over her, a feeling of shared admiration. She would be damned if she ever showed these emotions directly, however.</p>
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